Work,
drink, write. Work, drink. Work, drink. Work, drink. Work, drink. Work, drink,
write. Hmm. My work, drink, write balance is seemingly out of balance. I know
why I work (money) but I don’t know if I know why I drink (thirsty?) or write
(yeah, I got nothing). Perhaps I drink and I write for the same deep dark secret
reason. Something that happened in my childhood, something repressed for good
reason. Okay, I may be overdramatizing. After all, my idea of adversity is
running out of space on my DVR.